Jean Toomer

Cotton Song

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Come, brother, come. Lets lift it;
come now, hewit! roll away!
Shackles fall upon the Judgment Day
But lets not wait for it.
God's body's got a soul,
Bodies like to roll the soul,
Can't blame God if we don't roll,
Come, brother, roll, roll!
Cotton bales are the fleecy way,
Weary sinner's bare feet trod,
Softly, softly to the throne of God,
"We ain't agwine t wait until th Judgment Day!
Nassur; nassur,
Hump.
Eoho, eoho, roll away!
We ain't agwine to wait until th Judgment Day!"
God's body's got a soul,
Bodies like to roll the soul,
Can't blame God if we don't roll,
Come, brother, roll, roll!

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Jean Toomer